


Hermione, Red-Handed

by eromeromi



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, F/M, First Time, Hate Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Punishment, Size Difference, Sub Hermione Granger, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-09
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2019-03-29 00:18:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13915335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eromeromi/pseuds/eromeromi
Summary: Hermione is caught stealing ingredients for a special potion, and Snape doesn't let her get away with it this time.





	Hermione, Red-Handed

Hermione knelt down in the dark, quiet dungeon corridor, waiting. Her hands idly shuffled around several scraps of parchment that she had “accidentally” let spill from her bag onto the floor as the students of Hogwarts filtered past her through the narrow corridor. She ignored the snickering of the Slytherins who strolled by, waved on the few others who offered to help, and waited. All she needed was to sit still until she was all alone in the hallway.

She felt the shadow that was cast over her long before she saw it. Looking up, she saw Professor Snape glaring down at her, his face giving her a look of unmasked contempt. “What are you doing on the floor, Miss Granger?” His voice was cold and imperious, and it couldn’t help but arrest her attention. She took a deep breath; she couldn’t let it get to her.

“I spilled my bag, Professor,” she said as flatly as possible, her heart starting to race. He, of all people, had to suspect nothing.

“How very clumsy of you,” he drawled, casting his eyes over the pieces of parchment littering the floor. Hermione could see the door to his office behind his tall, thin frame, and she deliberately looked in a different direction. She continued to gather up the parchment as slowly as she could, but she became aware of how closely Snape was watching her, and she wondered, heart pounding, if he noticed what she was doing.

“I don’t need any help, Professor; I’ll pick everything up,” she said, her voice bright and cordial.

Snape snorted. “I hope you’re old enough to clean up your own messes, Miss Granger,” he said, and, with a swish of his black cloak, he stalked off down the hallway.

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief as his footsteps receded and the corridor fell silent. Finally, she was alone. Now was the time.

She swept her hands quickly over the floor and gathered up all the loose parchment in one quick motion. She stuffed it all carelessly back into her bag before rushing to the door just down the hall. It was a heavy, unwelcoming door, one with a thick metal lock with more than a little bit of magical enhancement. Fortunately, it was a lock Hermione had practice opening. With one flick of her wand, the lock clunked, and the door swung open. For the second time in two weeks, Hermione slipped inside.

Snape’s storeroom was as dark and damp as it always was, a portrait of the man who owned it. Hermione crumpled her nose as she closed the door behind her silently, trying not to breathe in the fumes wafting from the many jars and vials lining the walls. She waved her wand at the lamp hanging above, and its light slowly waxed into a sickly yellow glow. She peered furtively around the shelves but saw no sign of life. She was alone.

Hermione pressed a hand to her pounding heart, taking a deep breath. She had broken into this storeroom a few more times than she had admitted to anyone—Harry and Ron didn’t need to know everything about her—and every time, the terror and thrill of sneaking somewhere she didn’t belong made her heart beat so loud that she thought she might faint. As Hermione closed her eyes and scrunched the front of her robes up in a white-knuckled fist, trying to calm herself down, she wondered where her supposed Gryffindor bravery could be found. No matter how many adventures she went on, simple misdemeanors like this never failed to make her feel as if death itself had its eye on her.

She knew why, though: It was because of him. Professor Snape was not just a cruel man, but a cruel man who regarded her with special derision. He alone, of all the real teachers (Trelawney didn’t count), was resistant to her teachers-pet charm. It was one thing to see him in class, amongst her classmates, where there was a limit to how badly he could treat her. But if he caught her breaking into his private storeroom, then… Her heart was racing all over again. She barely made it through her last break-in only a week before, and she had sincerely hoped that she would never have to do it again, but it was not to be. She had made a mistake, and now she had to go back once more.

She shook her head, her brown ponytail sweeping across her shoulders. She had no time to waste on what-ifs. She had already committed the crime, and she no longer had time to worry about the consequences. She needed to get what she came for and get out.

She crept up to the nearest set of shelves, covering her mouth and nose as her soft breath sent a plume of dust into the air. Her eyes slid past jars of slimy specimens and wilted leaves. She dumped a few scarab beetles into her bag, then some fluxweed, then a few other ingredients she had found the week before. That was only some of what she needed now, however, and there was still shelf after shelf to pore through. If Snape kept his collection in any kind of system, it was one known only to him; there was no rhyme or reason that Hermione could find. She remembered, back in her second year, having to scour every inch of the place for lacewing flies and knotgrass, both ingredients she needed once more. If only she could remember where they were… She would have to go through the shelves manually.

She began to snake through the aisles, scanning the dusty and poorly-lit labels one at a time. It was a strain on her eyes, but she dared not create any more light in the room, not when it might spill out into the equally dim corridor. She could not get caught. Her eyes struggled with each and every label, most of which were stained strange, sickly colors. Finally, she found a jar whose tag was so yellowed and faded that it was impossible to parse. She picked the container up off the shelf, turning it over in her hand.

Then, without warning, the door swung open behind her and hit the wall so hard that the shelves rattled. Hermione jumped straight out of her skin, dropping the jar to the floor, where it shattered and sent a foul-smelling fluid seeping across the dirty stone. She looked up to the door, and the color immediately drained from her face.

It was Snape. He towered over her, his dark eyes wide and his jaw clenched. There was a small, taut smile on his face, but whatever joy he felt did not spread to her. She felt immediately cowed by his presence, and her pulse throbbed so loud in her throat that she thought she might go deaf. She took a step backward, her foot falling into the puddle behind her. She looked down in surprise, and Snape took that opportunity to grab her by her slender wrist.

“Miss Granger,” he said, his voice low and purring, lifting Hermione by the wrist until she balanced on the very tips of her toes. She tried desperately to pull her arm out of his grasp, but his fingers were like steel. “I noticed that you never arrived at dinner, and I started wondering if you might need help. After all, how long does it take to simply pick up a few pieces of parchment?” he said, his piercing eyes staring right into her own. He raised his other arm in a lazy, relaxed motion, and Hermione felt her wand slip from between her fingers and fly right into Snape’s pocket.

Her heart sank, and she felt her body go limp. Snape had suspected her from the beginning. He held her up like a rag doll, still staring at her with that wicked smile. “Did you think that I would just leave my office unprotected after last time? Stupid girl,” he said in his low, authoritative voice, letting her fall to the floor. She landed right in the puddle, and she heard a sharp hiss beneath her as her hip felt like it had suddenly caught fire. She gasped, scrambling back along the floor, away from acidic ooze that burned a hole in her robes. Snape smirked as he watched her crawl into the corner of the room, and tears began to well in her eyes.

“You ought to be more careful with other people's things, Miss Granger,” he said, stomping closer in his black boots and swirling black cape. “Get to your feet.”

Hermione’s knees shook as she pushed herself up, leaning against the wall for support. She watched as Snape picked her bag up from the floor by the shelf and peered inside. She felt her face flush red; she knew that he would figure out her goal. He pulled out the small bags of beetles and fluxweed, eyeing them thoughtfully before placing them next to their jars. He rummaged around some more, pulling out her books, a scarf, her muggle makeup. Each item made her face grow a little hotter until the acid burn on her hip felt like nothing in comparison. He relished going through each and every belonging she had with her, placing them all on the shelves next to his precious jars. Finally, he pulled out a slip of paper. It was the one that held all her notes.

Snape scanned it, looked over at her, then examined it once more. His smile only grew, and Hermione’s gaze fell to the floor. He knew everything now.

“Miss Granger,” he said, letting her bag drop carelessly from his hand as he took a step forward. “How mistaken I was. I thought you were merely helping Potter cheat on his next Triwizard Tournament task, and that was unfair of me.” He gave her a small, condescending smile. “But you did have something else in mind for your dear friend, Harry Potter.”

Hermione didn’t respond, looking anywhere but into his sharp, grey eyes. Of all the people in the world, it had to be Severus Snape who discovered her secret plan.

He was close now, closer than they had ever been together. He towered over her, his lank figure bending as he leaned his arm against the wall above her. “Professor—” she began to say.

“Quiet,” he said, and his simple command was enough to make her mouth shut. This wasn’t the classroom, where his nature was tempered by whatever small amount of shame he felt. His voice now carried every bit of the effortless power it was capable of. It was a voice that could silence a room, and every bit of its force bore down on her. She was scared of him now, far more than she had ever been, but that wasn’t all she felt. Her mind reeled to discover that she was, at that moment, in awe of him.

“When these ingredients were stolen at the start of the year,” Snape began, his voice low but perfectly clear. “I merely thought that you and your friends were planning to abuse polyjuice potion again, to play tricks or cheat on tests or some other nonsense. And when it happened again… I considered consulting Professor Dumbledore about the matter. Who knows what mischief you could be up to. Now,” he said, a grin crossing his face. “Now, I know understand.” Hermione blanched at the mention of her intrusion last week, but she was baffled by Snape’s reveal that someone had broken in and stolen the same ingredients at the beginning of the year. If Snape chose to pin that on her as well… Hermione suddenly felt that her very life at Hogwarts was at stake.

“This is the first time I’ve been in here…” Hermione said quietly, surprised at how quickly the lie came to her. She automatically let her face snap to a look of wide-eyed innocence, the teachers-pet act that had served her so well with professors in the past. She was not as naive as she had once been, but she could pretend to be.

“You lie, Miss Granger,” he said without hesitation, eyes sharpening. There was no doubt in his face whatsoever—he had not been taken by her for a single moment. Whatever talent Hermione had gained for lying over the past three-and-a-half years, Snape’s mastery of the art dwarfed her own.

Tears welled in her eyes. It felt like his gaze could penetrate straight through her pupils and reveal the very workings of her mind, and she had no way of stopping him. All hope fled from her heart as she sunk into the wall. “I also snuck in last week,” she whispered, giving in to the truth. “I stole the same ingredients. B-But that was the first time, I didn’t sneak in at the beginning of the year...”

Snape’s eyes fixed on hers, and for a moment it seemed like his smile might falter, but they brightened up again soon enough. “Twice is enough for anyone, don’t you think, Miss Granger?”

Her gaze fell once more, but suddenly his fingers were on her chin, lifting her gaze up to meet his. His hand was cold, but her skin burned where he touched. The deep recesses of his eyes swallowed her whole, engulfing her in his singular presence. He was not handsome, precisely, but he was striking; his features radiated absolute, unshakeable self-confidence.

“Who are you trying to impress, Ms. Granger? Has Potter grown bored of you? Did you think you might surprise him for the Yule Ball? Tell me,” he hissed, his thumb stroking her chin, “what use you had for a... body-enhancement potion.”

“I-It was just a special shampoo I was making,” Hermione said, shaking her head vigorously, trying to avert her gaze the best she could. “To straighten my hair, for the ball. It wasn’t—”

“Don’t they make product for that, Miss Granger? Available at Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade, and even by owl. Another lie.” His tone was like venom, and Hermione closed her eyes, feeling the blush that had blossomed on her cheeks since he had first rooted through her bag now spread from brow to chin. No one was supposed to know. It was supposed to be her secret.

She said nothing, and Snape took the opportunity to scan her up and down. “Take off your robe, Granger, that acid is dangerous.”

Hermione looked down to her hip, where the hole in her black robes had only grown, and the liquid was beginning to stain her top beneath. Without a word, she let the robe fall from her shoulders to the floor, leaving her in a thick red sweater and an airy black skirt. She looked back up at Snape and saw his eyes once more following the slender lines of her body. She crossed her arms bashfully, but for some reason his attention made her skin feel warm.

“Tell me, Miss Granger,” he drawled, staring at her chest. “Why are you so desperate to impress the Potter boy?”

“It’s not Harry!” Hermione said, her voice raised, finally able to meet his gaze. Snape’s eyes narrowed at her outburst, but he said nothing. “We’re not like that…” she continued, feeling her confidence drain away once more as she looked at his iron-grey eyes. “Viktor’s the one I’m going to the ball with… Viktor Krum.”

“So it was all to land the celebrity quidditch player,” Snape hissed, snarling. “I thought more of you, Miss Granger.”

“No…,” she said, shaking her head. “Viktor likes me just the way I am, he’s told me that… It’s just...” She closed her eyes again. She could hardly believe she was saying any of this to Severus Snape, of all the people in the world. Only Rita Skeeter would have been worse. “Viktor’s always being followed by these girls, his fans, and they… Some of them are so pretty, and mature, and I just thought... I just thought I could maybe look a little more like that, for the ball. Just a little bit more like how I wish I looked.”

Snape didn’t respond at first. His eyes once more pierced hers so intensely that she tried to look away, but Snape caught her by the chin and lifted her face to force her to look back into his. She had never stared so deeply into someone’s eyes before. She could see every shade of dark, muted color that dashed across his iris, and the profound depths of his pupil threatened to suck her in like a black hole. The eyes that had repelled her so thoroughly just moments before now compelled her to gaze back.

It was Snape’s turn to look away. He stood up straight and looked into his hand, and Hermione saw that he still carried the bit of parchment on which she had written her notes about the body-shaping potion. He studied her neat, careful handwriting, his face inscrutable.

“Is this your own formula, Miss Granger?” he asked, his voice cool and collected. It contained no evidence of the smoldering emotion that lurked in his eyes.

Hermione nodded, squeezing herself tight in the dark corner of the storeroom. Snape still stood in front of her, blocking her from the door back to the corridor. The only other door led into Snape’s office, and she was sure it was locked.

Snape smiled again, placing his arm once more against the wall just by her head, leaning forward until he boxed her against the wall once more. And once more, to her surprise, her body heated up as he encircled her like a cat toying with his prey. She had been in great danger before, but never had she felt like she was in so much trouble. It wasn’t her life that was in Professor Severus Snape’s hands, but her fate.

“I have another question, Miss Granger,” he said, drawing his wand once more and lazily raising it to her throat. She felt her heart drumming against her ribs as the wood touched her right above the collar of her sweater. There was a sudden tingling sensation on the surface of her skin where the wand met her body, and she felt blood rush through her veins as the wand began to descend along the thread of the fabric. Wherever the wand touched, her sweater split cleanly in two. Snape slid it down Hermione’s front, and, as if he was merely pulling down an invisible zipper, her sweater opened and revealed a creamy white avenue of skin from her collarbone to the hem of her skirt. Professor Snape was disrobing her.

Hermione shivered as the chill air touched her skin, sucking in air between her teeth. Without thinking, she let her arms flatten against the wall behind her, palms out, like the muggle police had told her to put her hands in the air. Snape’s eyes slid up and down the lane of bare skin, and she noticed herself doing nothing to stop him. His low, rumbling voice compelled her to follow his every whim. The hatred she held in her heart for this man was no match for the feelings his punishment stirred deep within her.

He lifted two hands to her chest, gently but insistently pushing her right up against the wall. Then they each grabbed one half of her newly torn sweater and pulled them open.

The shudder that shook through Hermione’s body as her small, underdeveloped breasts were revealed nearly knocked her to her knees. The cold air bit at her nipples and made goosebumps rise on her skin, but that wasn’t what turned her body into a live wire. It was his eyes, sharp and searching, examining every inch of her skin. He hated her as much as she hated him, but he wanted her as much as her body wanted to be taken. The uneasy, destabilizing thrill she had always felt when breaking the rules was nothing like the overwhelming rush of adrenaline that came from being caught.

A muscle tightened in Snape’s mouth as he stared at all the bare flesh he had revealed, still holding the remains of her sweater in his white-knuckled grip. With a sudden jerk of each arm, he tore the loose wool straight off her body and dropped the tattered fabric like it burned his skin. She was topless now, still leaning against the wall with her arms splayed helplessly behind her. Her nipples were taut atop her tiny little breasts, and the knowledge that he could see how hard they were sent a jolt down her spine. She was motionless under his gaze, as if she couldn’t move without his explicit command. She was under his control.

He smiled, his wand tapping against the center of chest once more. He dragged it across her skin in a tiny circle, her other hand reaching once more to her chin. “You didn’t get the results you wanted, did you, Miss Granger?” he asked, letting the wand loop out until it was drawing a circle around one of her pink nipples.

Hermione sucked in a shuddering gasp through her gritted teeth, her big brown eyes staring up into his cool, dark ones. “I g-got the formula wrong the first time...” she said, trying and failing to ignore the growing warmth between her legs.

“And so you needed to come back for more ingredients,” he said, still only touching her with his wand. She could feel a dim heat emanating from its tip, leaving a trail of almost searing warmth across her breast. “Why didn’t you just give up, Miss Granger? Was it really so important to be as... womanly as the other little brats who scurry around that boy?”

Hermione’s jaw tightened as she glared up at him. “I didn’t give up because I knew I could do it right,” she snapped, finally slapping his wand away from her chest and crossing her arms over her flat chest. He was a cruel, thoughtless man, and she couldn’t believe that she had almost let her hormones get the better of her. She hated every fiber of his being, and the thought of his hands touching her made her sick.

Snape gave her a strange look, neither one of anger nor contempt, but of some other emotion known only to him. He still held the note with the second version of her formula in his right hand.

Then, suddenly, he was upon her. His right hand thrust against her collarbone, pushing her hard against the wall, and his left hand flattened against her tiny breast, her rock-hard nipple jabbing into his palm. And far from making her feel sick, the touch of his hands sent electricity to every nerve in her body, lighting her up like a muggle Christmas tree. He no longer toyed with her with his wand—his wiry fingers took her into his possession. Her mouth opened involuntarily, and a long, shaking gasp escaped her lips.

His hand slid up her throat, not squeezing tight enough to strangle her but enough make her heart race. His thumb and middle finger then rose to grip her jaw instead, once again lifting her face to stare straight into his inscrutable eyes. The parchment in his hand crumpled rough against her skin.

“You’re a very clever girl,” he said.

She blinked, dumbfounded. Snape had never complimented her before, not once in the almost-four years she had known him. His expression was as illegible as always, but she could detect a new intensity just beneath the surface. His eyes weren’t disinterested in her, quite the opposite; he was fascinated by her. His eyes shifted restlessly from her gaze to her body and back again, drinking every part of her in. He asked her more personal questions tonight that he had in all her previous years at Hogwarts combined, and she suspected that he had shown her more of himself now than he had to anyone else in a long, long time.

Then, without warning, he kissed her. He swooped in on her, not like the bat he usually resembled, but like the night itself, enshrouding her in darkness. His black-clad body engulfed her milky-white one, and his long, dark hair curtained around her face. His lips brushed up against hers, and then his mouth, so much bigger than hers, opened up and thrust his tongue through her lips. She did not resist, letting his kiss meet hers as her eyes fell shut and her body briefly went limp in his arms. Beneath her skirt, her underwear was drenched, and every point where his body touched hers burned red-hot. She had never felt this way before, like every one of her cells yearned for one thing and one thing only.

After what could have been an hour or only a few seconds, Snape’s lips separated from hers, retreating a few inches so he could look into her eyes once more. His steely, unkind expression remained, but his pale face was just a tiny bit flushed now. His right hand still pressed that bit of parchment against her jaw, and he pulled it away to look at it once more. “You were on the right track,” he said, and his voice almost even, but she could detect a little bit of something beneath the surface. He let the paper fall from his fingers to floor, now once more looking straight into her eyes. “Don’t lie to me again, Miss Granger—did you really come up with this yourself?”

She nodded sharply, fierceness once more coming to her. “The first time I tried, I accidentally turned my skin blue. I realized that I had put in way too much fluxweed in proportion to the scarab beetles, and that adding knotgrass could counteract some of the unstable properties—” She couldn’t stop talking. Like every time Professor Snape had asked a question in class, and she had stubbornly raised her hand even though she knew he would just torment her, she could not stop herself from proving that she was the smartest one in the room. She was exactly what Snape said she was: a know-it-all.

But Snape didn’t mock her this time. He said nothing at all as she explained every thought behind the formula she had developed, listening to her with emotionless eyes as his thumb rubbed up and down the very gentle curve of her breast, occasionally toying with the taut pink nipple that stood there in rapt attention. Even as his hands explored her body, she knew that he listened to what she was saying. That was one thing he had going for him—he never tried to claim that she was wrong. She got good grades in his classes because she knew her stuff, and he honored that particular contract between teacher and student. And he honored it now as well, even as he groped her and let his fingers unzip her skirt and drop it to the floor. “I’ve seen students attempt to do the same thing as you before,” he said, his hands slipping down her waist to cup her ass beneath her panties. “Smart ones. But none of them have ever gotten the formula right until you.”

She felt a rush of validation surge through her body, bringing with it a wave of an emotion that could almost be called gratitude. This time, when he leaned down to kiss her once more, she did not just accept his kiss, she reciprocated. Their tongues danced together as he laid her pale body utterly bare by pulling down her white panties. The rush of cool air to her clean pussy revealed to her just how wet she was, how excited she was to have his hands on her body, and how happy she was to finally have the respect of one of the few teachers who refused to give it to her.

He put his hands on her shoulders, taking a step back and standing straight up. He towered over her, and his head turned down to examine her perfectly nude body. Her face turned beet red as her body was shown to a man for the very first time in her life, but she did not let herself succumb to her embarrassment. She did not cover herself up. She held her arms flat against the wall once more, allowing Snape’s insatiable eyes to scan her up and down. Each flick of his pupils ratcheted her excitement up a tick, his desperate gaze reminding her that she had a body worth being proud of. And then, for the first time, she had the courage to scan his body.

He was still fully dressed in his pitch-black robes and the dark cloak that swirled around his shoulders, but Hermione could see the shape of the tall, wiry frame that rose above her. He was thin as a rail, but his shoulders were surprisingly broad, flaring out around her like the ramparts of a castle. And with a tiny downward flick of her eyes, she could see an unmistakable bulge between his legs. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. She had never seen anything quite like it before.

Snape laughed, running a hand over her brow and through her tangled brown hair. “You don’t know everything, do you, Miss Granger?” She felt his body press up against her, rock-hard bulge and all. It rubbed up against her belly, the rough fabric of his robes doing little to hide just how erect he was. She felt a hand slide down between their bodies, fumbling down where his erection thrust against her. Suddenly, the rough weight of his bulge was gone. In its place was something red-hot and firm thrusting right against her stomach.

She couldn’t help but open her eyes and peek down, only to immediately squeak in terror and cover her eyes with her hands. His clothes were opened up in the front to let his erection through, and it stood before her in all its glory. Not only that, it was touching her, oozing a stickiness that now coated her belly. It was long, so long that she couldn’t believe that it was real. Kissing Professor Snape was one thing, something she could wrap her head around. Letting him put that thing inside of her… Even in her wildest imagination, he never went quite that far. The thought terrified and disturbed her, but her thighs, tightly crossed, were running with the lubricant seeping from between her legs. Her breath was hot, her head was spinning, and every brush of his fingers against her skin sent a deep-seated shiver up and down her spine. She no longer had control of her own destiny.

His hands reached down between her legs, suddenly gripping her thighs tight in his hands. Then, without warning, he lifted her into the air, resting her entire body on his forearms while his hands found purchase on her ass. She threw her arms around him wildly, squealing from surprise. He smirked at her as he lifted her even higher, so high that she had to duck to avoid hitting her head against the ceiling. He balanced her thighs on his hands, holding her steady against the wall as he positioned her so that he was staring right between her legs. Hermione had been certain so many times that evening that she had reached peak embarrassment, but this was it. This was the most self-conscious moment of her life, as Snape buried his face between her thighs and touched his tongue to her pussy.

But the humiliation was nothing compared to the rush of pleasure that roared through her body and made her cry out from the intensity alone. In that moment, Snape owned her. He had her in his grasp, and he made her his. Even if she wanted to, and she wasn’t sure she did, she could not have escaped. She was held six feet off the ground, pressed against the wall and the ceiling of this dark, damp dungeon, Professor Snape’s tongue slowly, leisurely running up the length of her pussy straight to her clit.

“P-Professor!” she stammered, crossing her arms over her face as he gently kissed her clit. She felt her head shake from side to side just to relieve the pressure building within her.

“Don’t fidget around so much, Miss Granger, unless you want me to drop you,” he growled before shoving her even tighter against the wall. She whimpered as his tongue flitted about her pussy and clit, each lash ratcheting up the sensation just a little bit more. She had never felt like this in her life.

Snape let out a hissing sigh that caressed her drenched skin like a cool breeze. “Had I known perfect little Miss Granger had a pussy like this, maybe I wouldn’t have been so hard on you all these years…” he murmured. “Your cunt is dripping wet.”

“S-stop…” Hermione moaned, covering her face. She had never felt so aroused in her life, and the thought made her shake in his arms.

His tongue attacked her some more, lapping up her juices and exploring her every nook and cranny. Hermione peeked through her arms and saw just how high she was off the ground, and she covered her gaze once again. It was too much, it was all too much. She couldn’t take every sensation all at once. Try as she did to control herself, she could feel something building within her, and there was nothing she could do to stop herself.

“Cum, you frigid cunt,” Snape hissed, and her body obeyed his command. She let out a strangled cry, and she tried desperately and futilely to silence herself, even as her body twisted in his arms. She was terrified she might fall, and that only made the orgasm rock her harder as Snape tightened his grip on her flailing limbs. She had brought herself to climax many times before, but it had never felt anything like this. It was like she was discovering uncharted territory within her own body, a sensation she had never even known existed.

Slowly, Snape set her back onto solid ground, where she collapsed to her trembling knees. She realized that her eyes were stinging with tears—not tears from pain or fear or sadness, but some other emotion entirely. She had no idea what was happening to her own body.

She felt something hard and hot smack against her cheek, and, when she came to her senses, she was staring down the full length of his enormous cock. “It’s time to reciprocate, Miss Granger,” Snape said, his voice a low growl, and his cool hand stroked her blazing cheek.

“P-Professor, th-that’s…!” she stammered, turning her face away, but he only thrust himself closer, so close that his long cock rested vertically up the entire length of her face. He rubbed it across her cheek and against her nose, forcing her to breathe in his strong, musky scent. It filled her head and left no room for anything besides him.

“Give it a touch, Miss Granger,” he said, so close that once again she was pinned up against the wall.

Touch it? How could she ever touch something like that, belonging to Snape, no less. But no sooner had he voiced his “suggestion” than both her hands were reaching up to touch the long, hot thing that sizzled against her skin. It was thick, so much thicker than she had ever imagined. Her fingers were not even long enough to wrap around it.

“Good,” he hissed, stroking her hair as her fingers gingerly encircled his shaft. “Now, open your mouth.”

Her lips parted without her even thinking, but she did not let teeth come unclenched. She knew what he wanted, and the very thought made her muscles lock up. Could she ever do something like that?

One of his long, slender hands fell atop her own, holding them in place on his erection. He guided the shaft so that it pointed straight towards her, right to her quivering lips. It was too big, much too big to fit into her mouth, too big for anything. She had no room in her head for anything but that thought of his cock breaking her as it entered her. He pushed it forward a tiny bit, and now it brushed against her lips, pushing against her teeth. It left its taste all over her mouth as it tried to ram its way inside.

“I said, open your mouth, Miss Granger,” he said, his voice a low growl, and this time, her body obeyed without hesitation. Her jaw slackened, her lips stretched wide, and his thick cock slid in.

It was like nothing she had ever experienced before. She nervously tried to take in a breath and her lips slammed shut around Snape's shaft, sucked in by the vacuum that formed in her mouth. It was a few moments before she remembered that she could breathe through her nose, and she took a deep breath as he his cock slid further and further inside of her through her locked lips. Then, almost as quickly as he thrust in, he pulled back, and the head of his dick freed itself from her mouth with a pop. “Good,” he murmured, his shaft rubbing against her cheek once more, making her face wet with her own saliva. “You’re a quick study, Miss Granger.”

She blushed, but when he next positioned his cock in front of her lips, that time she opened her mouth without hesitation. She could taste him on her tongue, on her lips, even on the roof of her mouth. Her tongue lapped up and around him as he thrust forward once more, and she sucked hard. His palm rested on her forehead, his fingers winding through her bushy hair as he held her in place, and his other hand reached down low to roll the scant flesh of her breast around in his grip. He toyed with her, and, to her own great surprise, her body responded with desire and yearning.

Never in a million years had she imagined letting him do these kinds of things to her, but her body reacted as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She had never been as wet as she was in that moment, not even that furtive moment in the library when Viktor had kissed her between the stacks while his female fans searched for him. Where Viktor was handsome and gentle, Snape was cruel and severe, but he had pulled back layers that she had barely known about before this moment. With Viktor, it was fairytale magic. With Snape, it was the dark arts.

Snape pulled himself free once more, again dragging his cock idly across her face for a moment. He stared down into her eyes, stroking her chin, thinking. Then, without warning, he reached his hands down and slide them under her. He lifted her straight into his arms, making her squeal from surprise. “P-Professor!” she cried out as she was pulled naked against his chest.

“Quiet,” he hissed, hefting her slender body in one arm as he opened the door in the back of the storeroom that led to his office. He carried her from one dark room to another, right up to where she knew his desk was. A careless wave of his wand sent stacks of parchment sailing off her desk to the floor, and the dim lights brightened above. He set her down on the desk with enough force that it rattled, his hands immediately grabbing her thighs and spreading them wide.

She could barely breathe. From this position, she could look straight up at him while he surveyed every inch of her bare body. His face was like stone, but his eyes told the whole story. They glanced from between her legs to her face, from her breasts to her face, from her feet (so tiny in his hands) to her eyes once more. He stared into her eyes for as long as she could bear to look back, but, finally, it was too much for her, and she turned away with her ears burning scarlet.

Then, he came into motion. His hands gripping her thighs with iron force, she felt his erection lie to rest briefly on her mound. Then, without another word, he pulled back and slid straight into her.

She cried out, and she felt his large hand rush to her mouth, pushing her flat against the desk and muffling her moans. It hurt, and she had expected the pain, but the pleasure that she felt bubbling beneath the surface was like nothing she had ever experienced. She had never penetrated herself before, and now, the sensation overwhelmed her. Her arms lashed out to grab at his, not to remove to his hand from her mouth, but just to hold him and be supported by him. His hot length pressed deeper and deeper inside of her, advancing slowly but surely. His eyes were wide, and his teeth were clenched, and still, he said nothing, not until his body pressed all the way against hers. Then, he leaned forward until his head was held straight above hers, his black hair falling in a curtain around his face. He bent over and placed a kiss on her forehead.

His back straightened. “You remind me,” he started, as his cock began to pull out. “Of someone I knew a long time ago.”

Hermione blinked, caught more off guard by this comment than by the penis buried inside of her. She forgot the pain for a second and felt his finger slide up her belly straight to her nipple.

“It’s rare,” he continued, “to find someone with as much talent as you, Miss Granger.” He pinched her nipple hard, sending a shudder of pain up her spine along with her pleasure. “You have an aptitude for potions that rivals that of any student I’ve ever taught.”

She had barely a moment to be shocked by his words before he began to move once more, pushing forward and pulling back in a smooth rhythm that left her in a constant state of emotional upheaval. Each thrust sent distinct bolts of pain and pleasure all throughout her body, and she could barely remember to breathe. His words, spoken his cool, gravely voice, coiled through her ears and made her heart leap.

He was leaning over her now, pounding her, his eyes staring down at her with a ferocity that terrified her. His arms locked her in place while fucked her, giving her not a second of respite. In that moment, she could do nothing but feel the pleasure he was giving her.

“I hate you, Miss Granger,” he growled, pinching her jaw in her hands, forcing her to look back at him. “I hate that you know all the answers. I hate how you put the dolts in my own house to shame. I hate that the hat gave you to McGonagall and left me with spoiled rich kids and moronic thugs.” He lifted himself back up, his chest heaving, a sheen of sweat over his look of contempt. “You could be so much more than Gryffindor is letting you be.”

Did he mean she should have been in Slytherin? And share a house with Draco Malfoy and his cronies? “I... hate... Slytherin…” she gasped as Snape continued to pound her, trying to shove aside the pleasure that was only ramping up inside of her and remind herself that Snape was the bad guy, the one who coddled his own students while extending nothing but cruelty to those in other houses.

“Look beyond the tiny window that is your adolescence, Miss Granger,” he said, glaring down at her over his nose. “Life’s not about who you liked and who you hated in school. Life is only what you can make of it, and Gryffindor teaches you nothing but how to be a martyr.” Snape's eyes fell from hers for the first time since he started his lecture, now seeming to stare at nothing in particular. His eyelids shut, and he slowed down, taking a deep breath with his cock buried deep inside of her.

Hermione blinked up at him, her mind trying to process what he was saying to her. Snape sounded just as cynical as he always did, but she got the feeling that there was something else there, something he wasn’t telling her. Something he would never tell her.

Then his eyes snapped open once more, and he launched himself back against her, fucking her with a strength that shook her to the bone. Any pain she felt was by now wholly smothered by the pleasure and desire that overwhelmed her. She felt another orgasm coming, one that made her previous seem like absolutely nothing. It railroaded her, making her cry out and throw her throw her arms out in his direction. He took the hint, grabbing her roughly by the wrist and yanking her up into his arms, his cock still buried to the hilt inside of her. She was on top of it now, and it felt like it was twice as deep inside of her as it had been before, making her aware of parts of her body that she hadn’t even known existed. She wrapped her arms around his chest as far as she could, flattening her soft skin against his hard body, letting herself be subsumed into his powerful, commanding presence. In that moment, her cheek nestled just below his chin, his arms wrapped around her back and hers around his, she felt like she was in perfect harmony with this man she hated.

Then she was on her back once more, her thighs held back. He was above her, thrusting into her, and his hands held her firm against the desk. She could do nothing but feel their bodies connect and disconnect again and again and again.

Then she felt his whole body tighten, his grip on her overwhelming, and she felt his seed begin to shoot out. It was hot, so hot, and it felt like it filled her to the brim. She could hear his deep, heavy breathing above her, and she could see his eyes were closed. When they opened again, his gaze seemed to pierce right through her on its way to some distant location.

Then, once more, he was staring into her eyes. He straightened his back and separated from her, running his hands through his long hair. He looked her over as she remained in place, only now noticing how deeply she was breathing as well. She felt exhausted and weak, like each thread of muscle in her body was wrung out and hung to dry. His cum seeped out onto her thighs, but she didn’t have the energy to clean herself up at that moment. She just wanted to lie there and close her eyes.

Snape was pulling his cloak back on, his expression as flat and illegible as ever. “You know what to do, don’t you?” he asked bluntly, looking down at her.

She nodded, saying nothing.

He pulled out a silver pocket watch. “Everyone should still be at dinner,” he said, striding to the door. “Wait five minutes, and make sure the coast is clear before you leave.” He narrowed his eyes. “It shouldn’t need to be said, but you are to tell no one about this. Do I make myself clear, Miss Granger?” His voice held that authoritative note once more, the one that made her stomach turn to jelly.

“Yes, Professor,” she replied, her voice low. She sat up on the desk and crossed her arms over her bare chest, but after a few moments let them fall back to her sides. She would never tell anyone, could never tell anyone. They wouldn’t understand, and she wasn’t sure she could explain it even to herself.

He paused at the door, his hand on the knob, unturned. “Take whatever you need from the storeroom,” he said. “But I hope I’ll never catch you here again, Miss Granger.”

“No, sir.”

He looked back at her, his black eyes piercing into hers. She couldn’t help but meet his gaze one final time. “Don’t let Gryffindor dull your edge, Miss Granger,” he said, his tone regaining some of its usual venom. “You have ambition and the drive to pursue it. Don’t let yourself be a martyr.”

With those words, Snape opened the door and flitted through, letting it close behind him with a snap. Hermione was alone, sitting naked on his desk, his semen inside her. She wrapped her arms around her knees. It was suddenly chilly in the dark, damp office, and she felt goosebumps rise on her skin.

She wasn’t sure Snape was in any position to be handing down his own homespun wisdom, but his words stuck with her nonetheless. She still hated every fiber of his being, but his words of validation made her heart flutter. He was the only person in the world who could make her feel this way—the only one whose respect she wanted but could never attain.

She got to her feet, the cool air settling on her bare skin. She retrieved her wand and her clothes from the other room before dousing the light and returning to the office that had his scent. Even as she used her magic to scrub every bit of him from her slender body, she smiled. No matter what he said from now on, no matter what he did, he had revealed himself to her, and he could never take that back.  



End file.
